


Pressure Surge

by Wyndle (mollymauks)



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: A really long really meta-filled scene, Canon Compliant, F/M, I just wanted to explore this aspect of Jasnah's character, LET'S ADDRESS THAT!, Missing Scene, Rhythm of War Spoilers, and 2)- can survive calling her out on occasion, and Wit gives me the perfect excuse to do that, anyway enjoy, bc he's someone who 1)- Jasnah lets her guard down around (a bit), living your life on the kind of pedestal Jasnah has for like.....20 years is NOT ENTIRELY HEALTHY!!, rhythm of war, which to be frank: she NEEDS, with softness and kissing and domesticity bc she deserves that too ahem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28580814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymauks/pseuds/Wyndle
Summary: !RHYTHM OF WAR SPOILERS!Set somewhere in the middle of RoW. After a lost battle, Jasnah seeks some time alone to reflect. Wit joins her and they're GOOD FOR EACH OTHER. They have positive discussions around Jasnah's mental health and the pressure everyone puts on her and she takes a moment with him to relax a little and let him support her and that pleases me.'“How are you?” he asked, finally, rather more blunt than she’d expected.“I’m fine,” she replied calmly, carefully sculpting her expression and body language to appear as composed as she wished the world to believe she was.“Mm,” Wit said, placing his hands behind him and lounging, even while she maintained a carefully straight back, legs crossed in front of her.She turned to look at him at last and raised an eyebrow.“Very nicely done,” he observed blithely, “No hesitation. But you didn’t answer too quickly, either. People always make that mistake. Nice tone, good facial expression. I’m very impressed.”“With what, Wit?” she sighed, exasperated for once by his witterings.“The near flawless delivery of that blatant lie, my dear,” he replied smoothly.'
Relationships: Hoid (Cosmere)/Jasnah Kholin, Jasnah Kholin/Wit (Stormlight Archive)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	Pressure Surge

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with more soft domestic content!!! woohoo!!!!! everyone enjoy.

Jasnah had always been fascinated by the ocean.

Kholinar was in the centre of Alethkar, landlocked. The closest thing to waves she had seen as a child were the Windblades rising around the city. She no longer felt overwhelmed looking out at the great, blue expanse as she had the first time she had seen it, but there was still something that was hard to look away from. 

The waters lapped against the cliff she was perched atop. It glittered in the glare of the setting sun, as if some giant hand had tossed a bag of newly infused diamonds across its surface. 

There was an endless quality to that ocean. How much history had it witnessed, blind, and uncaring. Wars. Desolations. The rise and fall of kingdoms and ages. It remained unchanged, undaunted. Eternal. That was oddly comforting. Even if they failed, even if they lost, parts of this world would remain as they had...Wouldn’t they? 

She sighed. The fighting today had been grim. The battle, after nine long hours, had finally been lost by her forces. Dalinar and the Mink thought this was inevitable. They were winning the war here, a battle or two lost to the enemy forces was not something to be overly concerned about. 

Jasnah accepted that logic. It was sound, by men with far more experience in the areas of war and killing than she. Yet it grated on her. It felt like another failure.

Dalinar seemed to understand when she’d curtly told him she intended to take a hike up to the nearby cliffs. Their meetings were concluded, their soldiers resting, her duties attended to for now. She had decided she could spare an hour or two in meditation, for the small sake of her sanity. 

She had brought guards, naturally, but they were surrounding her at a comfortable distance, meaning that she could retain the illuson of privacy while being protected. 

Not that she felt the guards did much in the way of that. If she was ambushed or an assassination was attempted here, it would be her own precuations, or Ivory’s ever-watchful eyes, that saved her. But guards set a precedent, provided the right perception, and so she tolerated them.

There was a shifting behind her, quiet conversation she could not hear, and Ivory told her that Wit had come to find her. She’d thought that he might. Hoped that he might, if she were being honest with herself. 

The guards let him pass and in a moment, with a soft huff, he settled himself beside her, long legs swinging easily over the edge of the cliff, following her gaze towards the distant horizon. 

“How are you?” he asked, finally, rather more blunt than she’d expected.

Wit rarely got directly to the point of anything. Not when he considered it much more fun to dance around it endlessly, tormenting it, like an axehound pup with a captured cremling, until it finally gave in and yielded itself to him. 

“I’m fine,” she replied calmly, carefully sculpting her expression and body language to appear as composed as she wished the world to believe she was.

“Mm,” Wit said, placing his hands behind him and lounging, even while she maintained a carefully straight back, legs crossed in front of her. 

She turned to look at him at last and raised an eyebrow. 

“Very nicely done,” he observed blithely, “No hesitation. But you didn’t answer too quickly, either. People always make that mistake. Nice tone, good facial expression. I’m very impressed.” 

“With what, Wit?” she sighed, exasperated for once by his witterings. 

“The near flawless delivery of that blatant lie, my dear,” he replied smoothly. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Design flaring happily where she was perched on top of Wit’s head, buried in his neatly styled hair. 

She sighed again. 

“What gave it away?” she asked, squinting at him, wondering if he would answer. 

He smiled, a little sadly, and tucked a strand of hair that had come loose from her braids in the fighting behind her ear, hand lingering on her cheek for a moment.

“No-one could, or should, be okay after going through what you experienced today,” he said quietly.

She turned away from him, unable to look into those knowing eyes anymore, and stared out across the ocean instead. It somehow felt the smaller, and less overwhelming, of the two options.

He was right, of course. No-one could be expected to be fine after the intensity of the day. 

The Fused knew her, now. There was no hiding behind a pretence at anonymity any longer. They were starting to set traps for her, trying to separate her from her guard, cut off her retreat. There had been several terrifying moments today, and she’d nearly been forced to flee into Shadesmar - in itself a frightening prospect. 

Yet who else but Wit would have seen what she’d said as a lie simply because logic dictated it must be? 

It should have been obvious. It should have been clear to everyone that she was not, and could not be, alright. But that was how she was expected to be. Fine. Always fine. 

The world could be ending, she could suffer repeated betrayals and assassination attempts, and setbacks, and they all assumed she would just be fine. 

That was who she was. She was Jasnah Kholin. And Jasnah Kholin was never anything other than perfectly fine, whatever else may be happening. 

She felt a lump of emotion form in her throat and swallowed irritably, trying to clear it. 

Warmth spread across her back as Wit placed a gentle hand on it, rubbing, wordless, seeming to know what she was experiencing, even though her ever practiced mask had not slipped so much as an inch outwardly. 

Storming man. He was coming to know her too well, coming to see beneath her mask. That was dangerous. 

She wore it, cultivated this presence, and this reputation, for a reason. Letting others in close enough that they saw through the illusion made it worthless. It exposed her. It made her vulnerable, it- 

“Jasnah,” Ivory murmured, very quietly, so only she could hear, interrupting her raging thoughts. 

She took a breath, nodding, composing herself once more. 

She turned to look at Wit, his bright blue eyes unusually solemn, one hand on her back, the other reaching for her freehand, squeezing gently. 

This- This was alright. She could let herself have this. A part of her acknowledged that she  _ had _ to let herself have this. 

Ivory was wonderful, an incredible outlet, and would always be her closest confidante, the one who knew her best. He was her partner. They were bonded on a level more intimate that any without could never understand. But with all the pressures lately he had not been enough. 

He seemed to know that, and had encouraged the blossoming relationship with Wit. Like her, he retained some wariness about his ultimate goals and the depth to which they could give themselves to him. But this...This was enough. For now.

“It is alright that you’re not fine after what happened, Jasnah,” Wit told her quietly, without a hint of his typical flippancy in his tone, “You don’t need to be.” 

She smiled at him, an echo of the sadness that had tinged his earlier now sung back to him as she shook her head faintly. 

“Only for you,” she replied, quietly. 

Feeling that unexpected emotion swell in her chest again she turned away from him, looking out towards the distant horizon again. 

She drew her hand away from his, so she could wrap her arms around herself, though it was not cold here. It never was. Except on the inside, where only she could tell. And no one else cared about that cold.

Exhaling slowly, she tried to banish the strange sense of  _ grief _ as she contemplated the loss of her vulnerability. Not something she ever thought she’d mourn, and yet, sitting here atop its cairn, she found that she did. 

“To the rest of the world I must be what they have come to expect from me,” she murmured, “Whatever happens, whatever disasters or desolations befall us, however helpless, or weak, or terrified I may feel, I must be fine for them.”

He rubbed her back again, and remained uncharacteristically quiet. It seemed to cost him something, not to interrupt her with a quip or a comment. Yet he seemed to know it was what she needed, and so he restrained himself. With obvious difficulty. She could almost love him in this moment for that. 

“It has become a constant for them. In this world that changes and becomes more unstable with each passing day,” she continued softly into the silence. “Gravity shall pull them down and keep them anchored. The Highstorms shall rage and make them cling to their place in this world. And I? I shall be fine.”

“Someone must,” he said quietly, hand going still on her back, but not withdrawing, “When worlds end, and kingdoms crumble, and everything collapses into fear and disorder, there must always be someone who still tells tales of better days, and sings songs from happier times. Someone who is fine when they have no right to be. That makes the others think that perhaps they can be as well.”

She turned away from the ocean and looked into his eyes again as his words struck a chord within her. 

In them she found an endless depth beyond anything that sea could contain. Understanding. Something she had never expected to see in the eyes of another. A person who  _ understood _ her. Who understood what she did, and also  _ why _ . 

“They need that person,” she said, so softly that a stray breeze could have stolen the words. 

But he heard them. 

He would have heard them even if she’d been unable to give voice to them. For he already knew them, had already lived them for thousands of years. 

“They need the music," she went on, "They need the stability. The certainty. The confidence. Even if they don’t know it. You have become their constant, and as long as you remain as you always have, they have hope that all else can be as it should again.” 

He reached out and cradled her cheek in his hand, that sad smile upon his lips once more.

“And a part of you grows to hate that hope,” he continued quietly.

It was as if they were singing a song together, a duet composed centuries ago, the lyrics never learned, but intimately known, as he spoke his line to her.

“Because while they cling to it, you know that they are desperate. And while they are so desperate that they they must hope so fiercely, with everything they are, you must be the reason they still can.”

Jasnah held for a moment, like the final echo of the last note of a song, the heartbeats it stole from the audience who waited, captured by it, suspended in that infinitesimal moment that seemed to contain eternities. 

Then she kissed him. 

She did it slowly, a little uncertainly, reaching out and cupping his cheek first, before dipping towards him, almost as though this was their first. 

She did not often initiate these kinds of things. This was far more his area, and they were both generally content to allow him to lead the charge on this aspect of their relationship so to speak. 

But in the moment it felt  _ right _ to her. She was not so much a scholar that she was incapable of yielding to the power of instinct on occasion. 

He did not seem surprised by her impulsivity. Even though it had surprised her. He’d likely known she would do this before she did. 

So his arms were waiting as she moved towards him, and he gathered her in close, pulling her into his warmth, melting into her embrace. 

It wasn’t a desperate, heat filled, thrumming thing of passion like a Highstorm. This was a soft and tender thing. Not meant to inspire lust or even need. It was a thing of connection. Of two lonely, wayward souls finding one another in the tangled web of fate strings that had somehow unravelled to let them have this moment here, on a lonely clifftop in Emul. 

When she drew away at last, she held to him still. He scooted closer and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her waist. 

No-one would see this intimacy from them up here. Well, no-one that had not already long ago guessed at it, anyway. 

Her guards were loyal as they could be, and were willing to die for her. As some of them had today. She’d decided some time ago that such sacrifice entitled them to gossip about her sordid relationship with her own Wit if they wished. 

Some of them were becoming strangely protective about the knowledge, however. She’d overheard a few of them assuring a group of soldiers that there was nothing untoward happening between them whatsoever. 

That had been amusing, as she knew for a fact they’d been stationed outside the very building she and Wit had had sex in the night before. 

Their behaviour was strange, illogical to her mind, but oddly sweet. 

Wit told her that they felt they were part of the secret, now. Like performers in a play. It would ruin the magic, and their part in it, to confess the truth to the audience. 

His fingers stroked gently up and down the length of her spine, as if it were some miraculous instrument he hoped to coax symphonies from with his touch.

“I shouldn’t complain about the way they treat me,” she said quietly, head still resting against him. 

She felt him shift and glance down at her, but he didn’t say anything, letting her talk.

“They are simply reacting to the person they see before them. The person I cultivated precisely to generate those reactions,” she continued.

She rarely spoke as openly about the mask she wore. It felt strange to discuss it with another. Not least because she had worn it so often for so long now that it was becoming harder and harder to take it off. To be the person that still lived beneath it. 

Yet she knew that Wit, of all people, would understand. She knew that he already saw the mask for what it was, and that he was coming to see beneath it, too. In turn he had revealed his own to her, let her see he knew and understood her burden.

That frightened and exhilarated her in near equal measure. 

It had been so long, so long since anyone had gotten as close as he was daring to. 

At times she felt like a fire. A source of warmth, and light, and  _ power _ . People craved that. They swarmed to it, like a rockbud vine to fresh storm water. Yet they did not dare draw too near, lest they be burned by her. Wit had never been afraid to get too close to her. 

Still, she did not tell him  _ why _ . Why she had created this mask for herself. What she strove to armour herself against. They were not yet at that point. She...She was not ready to share that with him. Not now. Perhaps not ever. 

She sensed that he found that acceptable. That he would wait. And that even if the time never came, he would not mind. Curiously, that made her more inclined to tell him, some day.

“I want them to see me as they do,” she went on, realising she had let the silence linger too long in her thoughts, “I want them to see a woman composed, and in control. Someone who does not, and never will, need help to navigate life,” she continued. 

Wit snorted at that, as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard. 

“We all, gods men, and everything in between, need help at some point in our lives,” he said firmly. 

“Even you?” she asked, half-teasing, half-curious to see what he would say.

“Even me,” he agreed, with surprising sincerity. 

“I know this,” she admitted. Even if sometimes she forgot that. Deliberately. “But they accept it. They accept that I truly can be a person who needs no-one, who would thrive as comfortably on this planet alone, as I would surrounded by those who love me.” 

Perhaps that was because so few actually saw her as a person at all. 

“Did you expect that from them?” Wit asked, quietly, “When you crafted this perception of Jasnah Kholin for them, did you foresee that you would no longer be able to be Jasnah anymore? That in their minds you would become  _ Jasnah _ , instead?”

She smiled wryly at that, for she knew precisely what he implied by stressing her name that way.

_ Jasnah _ . 

No longer merely her name. It was a word that encapsulated not only who she was, but simultaneously an explanation and justification for all that she did. 

How could she know some obscure piece of lost lore? Well, she was  _ Jasnah _ . 

How could she have foreseen a Desolation that had not come for over four millenia dawning once more? She was  _ Jasnah _ . 

How had she bonded Ivory and researched the end of Roshar itself in secret for years without anyone ever knowing? She was  _ Jasnah _ . 

How could she be fine, when all logic screamed that she should be breaking down with the rest of them? She was  _ Jasnah _ …

No matter how seemingly impossible or irrational the feat, no matter that it would have been called a miracle if another had performed it, for her, it was simply a commonplace byproduct of her existence. 

She suspected she could single-handedly defeat Odium with nothing but the still-clothed pinky finger of her safehand and they would all just nod and say to one another, ‘well, she is  _ Jasnah _ ’. 

Bitter thoughts. Unkind and unproductive. She pushed them away, discomforted by the depth and intensity of them.

“No,” she admitted to Wit, instead, “I did not expect them to put me on the pedestal they have. I never wanted it, either.” She trailed off, as her thoughts darkened. 

She had not wanted to become their salvation, or the answer to all of their impossible problems. She had only wanted to be respected, to have her independence and competence acknowledged. 

To never again be someone that would, that  _ could _ , be dismissed and locked away in darkness, screaming, pleading. Ignored. 

She shivered. 

“Good thing, too,” Wit said, lightly, though he gave her hand a small, comforting squeeze as he did so, “Had you just confessed a proclivity for foresight to me here, I would have had no choice but to have declared you as one of Odium’s minions and pushed you from this cliff into the hungry maw of the ocean and all its fearsome denizens waiting below.”

She smiled, grateful for the deflection, and said drily, “I’m quite sure you would have made an attempt at such a feat. Perhaps even a good one.” 

He chuckled lightly, “But not good enough to topple  _ Jasnah _ ,” he said, eyes twinkling. 

Her smile widened, in spite of herself, and she said, “I do not intend to end my existence being used as a toothpick by a greatshell.” 

Wit laughed at that. She expected him to make some quip about how no-one ever intended to become the toothpick of a greatshell in their last moments, but sometimes the Cosmere didn’t give them that choice. 

Instead, he looked at her for a long moment and said, quiet, unusually reserved, “And how would you choose it to end?” 

She paused, thinking on that, before she said softly, “Would you think me a fool if I said I would like it to be when I am old, and content, and safe? There is no more war, and no more Desolation. Alethkar has peace, and justice, and prosperity. My family are looked after, and stable, and happy. And I feel that I can finally rest.” 

He pressed a kiss to her temple at that, holding it for a moment longer than he needed to, “I asked you what you wanted, my dear, not what you foresaw,” he said, “And I would  _ never  _ name you a fool. Least of all for desiring peace.” 

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and gave her a smile more deep and genuine than any she’d seen from him. And she felt that he saw her in that moment. More clearly, and more honestly, than anyone she had known for so long. It felt frightening. But it also felt right.

“It is good to have gentle dreams, Jasnah,” he murmured, “In a time of crisis and violence such as this, I may even be persuaded to such things an act of revolution.” 

“And you?” she said, smiling a little now, “How would you have me meet my end?” He blinked at her, seeming surprised by this, so she clarified, “I can’t very well ask how you would meet your own end, as I’m not convinced you ever will. So I ask instead: how would you write my final pages? How would you end a life such as my own?” 

He seemed to ponder this for a long moment, “I would not,” he said, finally, and left it at that. 

“Coward,” she told him, fondly, sliding an arm around him and tugging him closer. 

He made a noise of mock offence at that. Design giggled happily from her perch in his hair. 

“For whatever it may be worth to you, insignificant or otherwise, know that I am proud of you,” he said, quietly. 

She almost made a quip about him being proud of her calling him a coward, but stopped when she looked up and saw the look in his eyes. The intensity, the genuine care, the respect, the-

Jasnah swallowed, not allowing that thought to fully form, focusing on his next words to distract from that dangerous, dangerous word. 

“I am proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself. What you have achieved, and what you yet intend to, should be celebrated. You are extraordinary, and I don’t think the Cosmere sends you enough reminders of that fact,” he said, quietly. 

“I presume that’s why you’re here, then?” she said bluntly, even as she felt warmth blossom within her at the words. 

He looked affronted by the very idea. 

“The Cosmere did not  _ send  _ me, Jasnah,” he said, as if she’d mortally wounded him by the mere suggestion, “The Cosmere ceased trying to send me  _ anywhere  _ with any deliberateness after that nasty bit of business with several gods, far too many aphrodisiacs, and frankly not enough lubrication, on Nalthis  _ millenia  _ ago.”

She rolled her eyes at him. He prodded her irritably in the side, to show he had seen and did not appreciate that. 

“I go where I will, thank you very much,” he said, sniffily, “And I say only what I feel, not what I am supposed to. You should have noticed that by now, surely.” 

“Regardless of its source,” she said, cupping his cheek in her hand and making him meet her eyes again, “Thank you for the sentiment. It means more to me than you know.” 

Storms. How long had it been since someone told her they were proud of her? She had never needed external validation or approval to do what she felt was right but...It was nice, for once, not to simply be taken for granted. She could admit that to herself. 

He nodded, and kissed her gently on the forehead. 

"They put an extraordinary amount of pressure on you," he said quietly, "And don't even have the decency to notice you bearing it all." 

"That isn't entirely fair," she murmured, “I did  _ ask  _ for that pressure in the first place. I want it. I will use it to build a better kingdom, and a better world. If it survives this Desolation.” 

“Perhaps,” Wit allowed, “But that doesn’t stop it all from being overwhelming sometimes, now does it?” 

“No,” she admitted. 

“I’ve heard the way they talk about you,” he said, quietly, “Your soldiers, the highprinces, even your own family, your former ward,” he said softly, and she braced herself. “They see you as something else, Jasnah Kholin. Something near divine at times.”

“I know,” she said, shifting uncomfortably in place, unsure how to respond in a way that would not undermine those closest to her, or deflect away with some easy, empty comment. 

Wit did not seem to need her to say more, however. He pulled her close instead, wrapping her in his warmth, which was the right thing.

“It’s lonely, isn’t it?” he said, voice very low now, and she turned to look at him, at the pain in his eyes that she had never seen before. “To feel so human within yourself, but to have everyone else look at you and see something so beyond all of their grief, and pain, and fear.” 

She nodded, opened her mouth to speak, but felt that to say anything would be pointless. He knew. He understood. She did not need to struggle to put it into words for him. So she simply nodded again, and he leaned in and pressed her forehead to hers. 

Jasnah reached out and took his hand in hers, twining their fingers together, “I think,” she paused, swallowed, and forced herself to continue, “I think that is why you have come to be as important to me as you have, this past year,” she said, wincing a little at the awkward phrasing. 

She was not good at putting her emotions into words. It was better if she could write them, and they had written letters to one another, early on. Partly due to distance, his travels, and partly, though it had never been stated openly, to accommodate this. 

But storm it they were past that now. She was not some awkward teenager experiencing her first attempt at romance. She could do this. She  _ would _ . For him. He deserved this much from her after what they had just shared.

“You do not see me as something else,” she said, quietly, “Something beyond what I am. You respect me, and you can acknowledge my abilities, my intellect, and my ingenuity, without stripping me of my humanity.” 

She had almost forgotten what it was to express doubt, or uncertainty, to another person before Wit. But he was someone she did not have to shelter from the harsh realities of the world. He knew them all. She did not have to be his saviour. And he did not have to be hers. They were already those things to so many that, with one another, it was nice to simply  _ be _ .

Reaching out, she brushed his cheek with her fingers, “I feel like a person, when I am with you,” she told him quietly. 

Then a part of her heard the words she had just spoken and she grimaced, pulling away, feeling suddenly foolish. 

“I sound ridiculous,” she said bluntly, shaking her head. 

He smiled, taking her chin gently between his fingers and tilting her face up to look at him, “Fortunately, I speak fluent ridiculous-ese,” he told her lightly. She rolled her eyes at him, but he took no notice, “You might even say I invented it. So fear not, my dear, I understand precisely what you meant.” 

She snorted at that, but was internally grateful she didn’t have to try and find a way to rephrase her complex emotions on the subject. 

“I will also admit that I’m rather relieved,” he went on, conversationally. 

“Relieved?” she repeated, frowning at him. 

“Oh indeed,” he said lightly, eyes tinkling, “I was starting to fear that your eloquence knew no bounds. I thought I’d have to murder you to save myself from competition. I’m very relieved that that  _ clearly _ isn’t a danger any more.” 

She glared at him, and he responded by laughing and kissing her fondly on the top of the head. 

“You have put an inordinate amount of pressure on yourself,” he said quietly, fingers playing up and down along her spine once more, making her shiver pleasantly, “And you do good work as a result. But it is good to set down your burdens at times. To let yourself be light, and a little ridiculous, and intensely human at times. Take it from someone who knows: it’s entirely necessary in order to maintain one’s sanity. If that is what I can be for you, then I shall be it gladly. And with pride.”

She considered that for a moment, tapping a finger idly against her knee, then said, “So, in essence, you are all that currently stands between me and madness?” 

He grinned. 

“Storms,” she muttered, “I may need to invest in a deity after all.” 

“ _ Technically _ -” he began, perking up, but she interrupted him with a raised hand. 

“You are not a deity, Wit,” she said flatly. He opened his mouth to protest and she put a finger to his lips to quieten him and added, “I don’t care how many people in the Cosmere you claim still worship you.”

He sniffed in indignation, but slid an arm around her and drew her in close, “Probably for the best,” he mused, “I don’t know  _ what _ it would do to theology on Roshar if a woman was found to be having sex with her god.” 

“Improve attendance at temple, I would think,” Jasnah observed drily. 

Wit laughed at that, “Such a cynic,” he said, with the same tone another man might use to praise his partner’s skill in drawing. 

She rested her head comfortably against his shoulder, listening to the soft rhythm of his breathing, the gentle pulse of the waves below lapping against the cliffs. 

After a long while sitting together in companionable silence, as the sun sank lower and lower, pulling light from the world as it went, Wit said into the gathering darkness, “Would it really be so terrible, Jasnah? To let them see your fears? Your humanity?”

“Yes,” she answered softly, but said no more. 

Wit stared down at her for a long moment, expression thoughtful, eyes gentle. Then he nodded simply and settled himself again, arm still around her. 

She closed her eyes, more relieved than she wanted to admit that he hadn’t pressed her on a reason why. 

It was not just the wish to shelter those around her from the burdens she felt, foolishly, should be hers alone. There was more. The last time she had exposed weakness, even to those she loved, it had ended with her locked in a dark room, screaming and begging for release. 

Never again.  _ Never _ again. 

She felt Ivory’s gentle touch on her mind, cool, but welcome, “You are safe.”

She smiled faintly. She had not been slipping back so completely that the panic stuffed itself down her throat like water into the lungs of a drowning person. She had not needed him to pull her back to herself. Not this time. But she appreciated his careful intervention all the same. 

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly to Wit, looking up at him. He raised an eyebrow, curious, “I sense it is something the Cosmere does not tell you often enough, either,” she told him, and he smiled, dipping down for a gentle kiss, which she allowed him. 

They were allowed a few more moments of peace, before one of her guards cautiously approached, “Your Majesty?” she said tentatively.

“Yes, Bettara?” she said, turning to look at her, the face of the Queen replacing her idle comfort with her partner smoothly and easily. 

The woman curtsied and said, “Your Uncle, King Dalinar, has sent a runner with a message for you. She claims it’s urgent she deliver it in person as soon as is agreeable for you.” 

Jasnah rose, “Tell her I shall speak with her at once,” she said. 

The guard nodded and dashed back to the perimeter line. Jasnah reached down and gave Wit her hand to pull him to his feet. 

“Time to be Queen again,” he observed lightly, his eyes on the distant runner. 

“Indeed.” 

He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and said, “Shall I return home and run you a bath? I feel certain you can handle Dalinar without need of Wit.” 

She eyed him for a moment, then allowed herself a smile, “That would be appreciated,” she told him. 

“Then it shall be attended to with haste,” he promised, bowing with excessive flourishes of his hands. 

She smiled faintly as she watched him depart, waving to her guards as he did so. 

“This is, Jasnah,” Ivory said, from his position settled on the inside of her collar, close by, but out of sight, as he preferred. “I was uncertain, when first you began exploring this human bond with your Wit. But he is. He makes you  _ you _ . This is good.” 

Jasnah smiled. She trusted Ivory’s judgement more than almost anyone else. His had been the only approval she had sought before pursuing Wit’s gentle courtship of her. It comforted her to know that he shared her assessment of the situation. 

“I...Agree,” she said, with a tentative smile. 

A part of her was still cautious about this. A part of her would  _ always _ be cautious about letting anyone as close as she was increasingly allowing Wit. It had to be, to protect her. But the other part felt warm when she thought of returning to him after her meeting with Dalinar. And perhaps...Perhaps that was good, too. 

Once she helped save this world, she was going to need things to help her enjoy living in it once all this was through.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This one was a lil longer than usual because I got carried away. I had things that needed to be said. And so I made Wit say them for me. Bless him. Anyway. Pls comment I love u all I'm bad at endnotes OKAY BYE.


End file.
